


Still Cradled in These Arms of Mine

by cagethesongbird



Series: A(geplay) Corp [5]
Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Bed-Wetting, Caregiver Mr. Robot, Caretaking, Crying, Diapers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Gen, Little Elliot, Non-Sexual Age Play, back at it again at da krispy kreme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23730967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cagethesongbird/pseuds/cagethesongbird
Summary: Mr. Robot isn't around as often as he once was, but when he's needed, he doesn't fail to show up.When Tyrell's away, Mr. Robot tries his hand at babysitting.
Relationships: Elliot Alderson & Mr. Robot, Elliot Alderson/Tyrell Wellick
Series: A(geplay) Corp [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1617634
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Still Cradled in These Arms of Mine

**Author's Note:**

> yall know i couldn't leave Robot out of this... i don't think this is the last time we'll be seeing him in this 'verse. 
> 
> enjoy! :)

Elliot can’t remember the nightmare, and somehow, that makes it so much worse. It feels like he’s worked up for no reason, because the moment his eyes wrench open, the bad dream flies the coop. It’s left nothing of itself but agitation and fear, a darkness pressed against the insides of Elliot’s mind. It gnaws at him as he sits up, trying to collect himself.

He assumes it’s the usual – his intense guilt coming out to play, or his childhood, or any of the other shit he’s seen and done.

But he can’t _fucking_ remember, and that frustration, ultimately, is what makes him start to cry. The tears well up of their own volition, not asking his permission any, and he doesn’t care to fight it. He sobs openly, quickly working himself up, cheeks hot and body cold. His hands clench tightly in the sheets that pool around him.

He winces – the sheets beneath him are wet and cold, as are his boxer shorts. Not unusual after a nightmare, but he exhales shakily anyway, his tears picking up. He truly didn’t need something else to deal with. Not only was it embarrassing as hell, and a problem he wished he didn’t have to deal with, but he was going to have to clean up all on his lonesome.

On his lonesome, because Tyrell had gone home to Sweden for a few days, to check up on his aging mother. The arrangement had been planned weeks before, and they had just spoken on the phone that night, but even so, being all alone in this moment isn’t doing Elliot any favors. He whimpers, scrubbing at his eyes, very much longing for the security of Tyrell’s embrace. And then, of course, very much feeling selfish for it.

But it’s okay. Elliot is a big boy – grown _man,_ he mentally corrects. His still-fluttering heart might not agree, but he knows he can deal with a little nightmare. He hadn’t always had Tyrell. He could just… do what he did before.

If Elliot had been in the kind of mental state to appreciate irony, he would have laughed, because it’s off of that thought that Mr. Robot materializes, strutting in as if he had never left. It gives Elliot, who’s still caught up in his crying, pause to see him here. Here, in his happy home, rather than in the arcade taking over the world, or in his old shithole apartment, coaxing him off the brink of death.

“Hey, kiddo,” Mr. Robot says. He looks the same as ever, tattered jacket in its same tan and many scarves just as numerous. His glasses, perched on his nose, give him an air of wisdom, and when he smiles, it’s the warm hello of an old friend. “Rough night?”

Since Elliot and Tyrell had gotten serious, Mr. Robot had taken a leave of absence. He was still there – Elliot could still feel him, just under the surface – but he didn’t often make himself known. Krista, who Elliot still saw for therapy, explained it as Mr. Robot feeling as safe as Elliot did. If there was no danger, there was no need for him to emerge as protector.

But now, he’d decided, it was time to make a little reappearance. Elliot didn’t do well with being alone.

Elliot sniffles, unsure what to say. Mr. Robot had never shied away from comforting him, but things are slightly different now. The part of Elliot that wanted things adults don’t typically want – to be cuddled, cradled, _coddled_ – has pushed itself to the surface, with Tyrell’s gentle prodding. And now that he was seeing a bonafide grown-up, that Little part was deciding it was okay to take the reins.

He was slipping, rapidly falling younger. It didn’t particularly help that he was still sitting in a wet bed, distracted by Mr. Robot’s appearance.

Before Elliot can catch himself, he’s raising his arms for a hug. His tears had slowed, but he was still feeling lonely and unsettled, wanting to be soothed.

It had been a while since they’d been together, but his trust in Mr. Robot hadn’t wavered yet. Robot blinks at him, momentarily caught off guard, but knows enough to take it in stride. A little prodding into Elliot’s head made it clear this was just another means of coping. It was different – but Robot’s own existence was a little different. If it helped, it helped.

He smiles in a way Elliot can’t decipher and strides over, collecting his son in a big bear hug.

He smells like metal and WD-40, like he’d been tinkering with old computers. Elliot gently bumps his forehead against the hollow of Robot’s throat, liking the feel of the stubble there.

Mr. Robot chuckles, chest rumbling with it. This reminds him of long ago – back when Elliot was just an elementary schooler. When he would seek comfort in the scratchy fabric of Robot’s shoulder, hiding himself from childhood torment.

It was a good feeling, being needed again. As Elliot grew up, he sought that comfort less and less. Robot, however, had never been particularly convinced it was needed any less.

Mr. Robot runs his hand along Elliot’s back, not at all liking how prominent his spine still is. Maybe the kid would just never naturally gain weight – but that wouldn’t stop Robot from worrying, though he’d swear up and down he didn’t give a shit.

“I think you need to get cleaned up, kid,” Mr. Robot says softly. Elliot tenses, having momentarily forgotten that, unless he deliberately pushed him out, Mr. Robot could feel what he was feeling. The bedwetting was never going to be kept secret.

“S’okay,” Mr. Robot says gently, hold on Elliot never faltering. “No biggie. Promise.”

“I’m sorry,” Elliot whispers, sounding incredibly young. When Mr. Robot looks down at him, there are fresh tears staining his pinkened cheeks. He sniffles and focuses on his lap, not meeting Robot’s eyes.

“Hey, no tears, buddy,” Mr. Robot says, feeling a pang in his chest. “No need to be sorry. It’s not your fault. None of it.”

And that was the truth. The root of the bedwetting and the nightmare; the monsters that followed Elliot around like a dark cloud, was nothing within his control. The guilt that still stuck to him, ingrained like a program from hell, was nothing short of heartbreaking.

But every day, he got a little better. Mr. Robot could see that.

Every day, he healed a little more, felt a little safer, asked for a little bit of help. It was slow going – but it was going, for maybe the first time in Elliot’s life. If they had to suffer through a couple unnecessary apologizes, they were going to damn well do it.

Elliot shakes his head, curling closer into Robot. Mr. Robot slowly pulls them both off the bed. Elliot immediately clings to him like a lifeline, and it strikes Mr. Robot how little Elliot really is. He was, without a doubt, hovering around toddler age.

Mr. Robot pats his back reassuringly, and then, regrettably, has to unhook them to take care of the bedding. He tries to make quick work of it – and hide his surprise at the plastic mattress protector. Apparently, Tyrell had done his homework.

He also makes quick work of getting Elliot clean, forgoing the bath or shower for a warm washcloth. There were certain limits in sharing a body, and Mr. Robot was unsure how safe it was for Elliot to be somewhat on his own in the tub. If he fell, Robot couldn’t physically catch him.

Elliot slumps against him and sighs. There was no going back to sleep now, with it going on nine in the morning. It was late afternoon in Sweden – despite how great Mr. Robot was being, Elliot found himself missing Tyrell.

“I know you miss him, honey,” Mr. Robot says. The nickname is foreign for him to use, but “buddy” and “kid” just seem too old for Elliot right now. “But he’ll be back real soon. Until then, you’ve got me, okay?”

Elliot hums, not feeling like speaking, as he often didn’t when he was small.

“Where do you keep your clean clothes?” Mr. Robot asks. He doesn’t know this new apartment and didn’t really care to peer into Elliot’s head to find out.

Elliot points to a handsome set of drawers in the far corner, before going very, very still.

“But, um. Need – needa diaper,” he says softly, chewing gently on one knuckle.

Somehow, that doesn’t surprise Mr. Robot. “Let’s do it, then,” he says, coaxing Elliot into leading the way.

They somehow make it through the change without incident. Elliot is clean and dry, and all with no tears. Mr. Robot considers that a win. He pulls a pair of soft elastic shorts over Elliot’s hips, and lets him sit himself back up.

“Good job!” he praises, and Elliot ducks his head shyly.

Mr. Robot grins. Elliot is unbearably cute like this, all bashful, waddling slightly as he follows behind Robot. A little duckling.

The little duckling stops halfway into standing back up and holds his arms up for another hug. He squeezes Robot like he’s afraid he might disappear.

“Stay,” he says, and it’s less of a question than a hopeful plea.

“I’m right here, kid," Mr. Robot assures. Hell, he could get used to these adventures in babysitting.


End file.
